


A Triple Splash

by NightmareGuardian



Series: Swinton-Centered [2]
Category: A Bigger Splash (2015)
Genre: And I think that explains it all, Attempted Seduction, Drowning, F/F, F/M, Lost Voice, Multi, Murder, Threesome - F/F/M, unintentional murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 05:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16278677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareGuardian/pseuds/NightmareGuardian
Summary: An American couple, Paul and Marianne, spend their vacation in Italy and experiences trouble when the wife invites a former lover and his two daughters - half siblings - to visit, which leads to jealousy and dangerous sexual scenarios.





	1. Family Vacation

Camilla lived with her mother her entire life. She never really cared about who her father was until she suddenly got a letter saying he discovered another child of his and did a paternity test for anyone and everyone in the system. She was the only other one that popped up. Curse her need to help people which led to her giving blood. Now, she was sitting on a plane with her father and half-sibling, headed somewhere in Italy. She tried to fight her mother, but the woman was determined. She insisted that it be her Mother's Day gift as she couldn't exactly force her to go. You see, Camilla was 21, French, and a former musician. Anymore, she was an interpreter. 

Her father was this overexcited man who had fucked anything with a cunt. Camilla could only see the resemblance in their [hair](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/camp-halfblood-roleplay/images/7/7e/Danielle-campbell-the-originals.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20160102032019). His name was Harry and it definitely fit... with all the facial and leg hair he had. 

From the plane, he got on the phone and started rambling. "Aha! I found you. Guess who it is. Marianne, I know you're resting, but you have to be better. When it happened to Adele, she was yodelling again in three weeks. You think I didn't do my homework? I'm landing in Pantelleria in five minutes. Meet me there, and boy do I have a surprise for you and Paul! Two surprises, in fact! I've got to go. I'm landing in five minutes." He hung up, not letting whoever was on the other side get a word in edgewise. 

When the plane landed, Camilla plopped her earbuds back in her ears and just followed her prison warden. He stopped and talked to some people, but saw someone through the doors and took off to meet them. 

Penelope and Camilla made eye contact, sighed at his antics, and followed his through the automatic doors. Camilla took out her earbuds, turning off her music. She locked her iPod and stuck it in her laptop bag. 

Their father noticed them and grabbed at Penelope. "Oh, Pen! Cam! Right, girls, meet Marianne and Paul." He gestured to his friends, a man and a woman with short hair. 

"Hi!" Penelope greeted, taking off her sunglasses. 

"Oh, you brought 2 protégés. You're really getting out there! Nice to meet you." Paul held out his hand to shake Pen's. 

"We're his daughters," Penelope said softly, shaking his hand. 

Both adults froze. 

"Both fram deefferent weemen," Camilla added, her French accent thick. 

"Excuse me?" Paul demanded while Marianne's Jaw just dropped. 

Harry busted a gut. "The looks on your faces! I'm sorry, I should have warned you. Everyone's making the same mistake. Pen, Cam, say hello." 

"Hi! Yeah, he really loves it, though." Pen was the only one to speak up. 

Harry wrapped his arm around Pen. "She seems shy, but she is a lovely bitch, like her mother. And underneath, she is every inch my girl, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Penelope murmured. 

"And this one! Camilla is a germaphobe and doesn't like being touched, but she's got some fire in her, I know it." 

"I think so. We're kind of.. Where are your wheels? Let's go." Harry said. 

Marianne pointed out front. 

"Uh, right in front," Paul answered and the group of five headed to the jeep. 

* * *

In the car, Paul and Harry sat up front. After calling Marianne a fry, Camille got her to sit in her lap so they wouldn't be squished. It was relatively comfortable. 

Swerving dangerous corners, Paul asked, "So you didn't get a room?" 

"Is that going to be a problem?" Harry asked. 

"Yeah. It's San Gaetano tomorrow."

"Ah! Shit. Yes. No, 'cause last year they did it late because of the ferry strike. Okay, anyway, doesn't matter. Oh, I know where we should go. We can go squatting at Fabrizio's. He'll put us up. But now, keep going, it's up here. There's a restaurant in the hills here and, girls, you're going to love it. It's amazing. Fantastico! Pantelleria!" He laughed like the madman he was. 

* * *

Harry led the group of five to a sort of mountain, but it had stairs. Camilla didn't know what it was. 

"Ta-da!" He gesture behind him, chuckling. "You didn't know this was here? Don't tell me you've been eating out of the fridge all this time. They only serve dinner and only until September. Then it's fallow again until June." The walked to the restaurant. 

* * *

Harry decided he had to pee and ran up a hill, turning to it. 

"Harry, come on, that's a grave," Paul scolded. 

A little later, the girls stopped, leaning on a foundation except Pen who was up in the roots of the tree. 

Paul slowly approached them. "So when did this happen, you two and Harry?" 

"Last year. I finally put some pieces together and figured it out. Mm." Pen fiddled with the branches. 

"You're on your college break? On your Grand Tour?"

"Yep. Normally I'd be spending the summer in Connecticut with my mother, but she gets sick of me. Annie!" She looked at Marianne to gauge her reaction. She giggled when realization struck them both. "She gets sick of me and she just ships me off somewhere. This year, it was to Harry." 

"And wance he knew he had one child out zere, he ded ze SNA test to discahvair eef he had more. I've given blood so I'm een ze system. And zat's how he found me!" Camilla walked further on, her hand out to Marianne. 

Marianne took it and they walked further on, Penelope catching up. 

Harry caught up with Paul and they were just catching up when they reached the restaurant. The very full restaurant.

"Oh, fuck. It's full. Shall we tell them who you are?" Harry asked, walking ahead of them. 

"Oh, we don't do that anymore, Harry," Paul called. 

"Well, I think we may have to 'cause it's absolutely choccer." 

Camille guessed it was English slang for full or something. 

Some people down the hill was looking at Marianne with excitement. Soon enough, they were talking to the owner and leaving their table. 

Harry guided them to a table where he knew the people. He started chattering in French. The other four sat at the table, Camille between Marianne and Penelope. Paul sat on the other side with where Harry would sit. 

"Everyone, this is Harry!" the older woman announced. 

* * *

Harry finally made it back to them, sitting at their table, beside Paul. "It's the same group of people wherever you go. So what are you going to have?" 

"No, she can't talk, all right?" Paul reiterated. 

Hand on her throat, Marianne croaked, "I would love a daiquiri." 

"Marianne," Paul tried to scold. 

Paul slammed his hands on the table. "Have a daiquiri!" And he ordered 5 of them. Paul didn't drink his, though. 

Camilla just glanced as he pushed it away. She nudged Pen then pointed to his to-be wasted glass. Pen leaned forward and swiped it. She poured it into her own glass. 

* * *

"Hotels are booked solid. There's meant to be one room left at the Yacht Marina and Piero says there's a queen bed we could use on the boat. At any rate, we got to get out and enjoy the weather tomorrow, 'cause the sirocco's on its way. That's the warm wind from the Sahara I was telling you about," Harry was telling them. 

"With rain?" Penelope asked. It couldn't rain on her vacation. 

"No, it's dry, with sand," Paul explained, chewing on his lemon. 

Harry grinned and looked to him then to the woman across from him. "Marianne, Paul's headaches. Are they a problem here?"

Marianne gestured to her throat, mouthing "can't" as Paul defended, "Harry, stop this fucking shit, all right? She can't talk. I'm not going to repeat it!"

"Of course she can talk. When Bjork had her operation, after two weeks she was..." Harry insisted. 

Paul cut him off. "I don't give a fuck what Bjork said, all right? Or Adele." 

Marianne put her hand out, mouthing, 'fuck off'. 

"No. Nothing's a problem here. Nothing a few Nurofen can't take care of," Paul explained. 

Marianne leaned forward, holding her hands like she was praying, but Camilla knew she was begging.  

Harry leaned forward. So did Marianne. "What is your name? What is your favourite colour?" Harry was obviously referencing something, but Camilla didn't watch many American films. 

Paul grabbed the back of his head, mimicking pushing him into the table. "Seriously, you want me to deck you? Fucking..." He let him go. 

Harry rebounded, looking at Marianne to finish his reference. "What is your quest?" 

Marianne widened her eyes. She said nothing, sitting back. 

"To not end up like Julian Doyle. Get it?" Paul demanded. 

Harry got a waiter's attention and held up 5 fingers, saying something in Italian. 

"Four," Paul corrected, lightly hitting Harry. 

"Oh, fuck, shit, yeah, sorry." He turned back to the waiter, saying, "Quattro." 

* * *

Dinner was done and they were walking back towards their wheels. 

Marianne was gesturing to Paul. 

"What, what, what did she say?" Harry asked. 

"She says her feet hurt," Paul lied. 

Marianne got in his face, playfully scolding him. She gestured toward the trio. 

"No! That's what she said," Harry insisted.

"She's getting a blister," Paul kept up with the charade.

"If you've got something to say, say it to me," Harry insisted of Marianne.

"She's asking you to stay," Paul eventually translated. Marianne kissed him in thanks. 

"Oh, Christ, that took forever," Harry complained. 

Camilla put up her hair. "Is there a place with water where we can't touch?"

Marianne pulled from the kiss and nodded. 

"Then I'm in," Camille stated, nodding. She was very easy to get along with. Usually her fee was Wi-Fi, but she didn't have any work lately, curtesy of her mother. 


	2. Adjusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took French, but then I was forced to change to Spanish as my new school didn't teach French. So... most of this is Google translate.

_French_  
**_Sign Language_ **

The quintet walked up some stairs, to a lovely home. 

"Ah. Yeah, this place isn't bad, eh? Where are they?" Harry asked. 

Both Penny and Camilla were looking around as they walked. Marianne put her hand on Camilla's hip so she could look around and stay on the right track. When they made it up the stairs, Marianne walked over to the boys and pointed further down. 

Harry looked to where she was pointing, but was confused. "What? Where am I?" 

"No, it's down at the property. It's a little dammuso." They stayed behind and kept talking, but Marianne guided the girls inside. 

Penelope let her crap drop on a chair in the room Marianne was showing them. She examined the room as Marianne fiddled with the window. She turned to face the former singer. "You can't talk or won't?"

Marianne gestured to cross at her throat. She pulled a grimace, poking at her larynx. 

"Cancer?" Penelope asked. 

Marianne shook her head, her hand on her chest. She mimicked singing. 

"Oh, right." Penelope shook a maraca at her. 

Camilla tilted her head. "You were a seengair, non?" 

Marianne nodded. 

"Cool," Pen murmured. 

"Deed you hahve a stahge nahme or where you just Ma'rianne Lane?" She pronounced Marianne's name strangely, breathing part of the first 'a' then rolling the 'r' intensely. 

Marianne just mouthed her name: 'Marianne Lane.' 

Penelope just looked around the room before randomly stating, "I'm 22, you know."

The short haired brunette bobbed her head. "Cool," Marianne whispered. She tapped Camilla on the shoulder and led her to another [room](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/51/e7/1c/51e71cfc9727197ed5250b0a45e15419.jpg). It was small, simple, but perfect for Camilla. 

"Zis ees lavely," she commented. 

Marianne nodded in thanks. She pointed to her, mouthing, 'How old are you?' 

"I'm tventy-one." She pulled out her passport, showing it to the former Rockstar. 

Marianne nodded, handing it back. 

Camilla tilted her head, looking at the woman. 

'What?' she mouthed. 

"Hahve you evair cahnsidered learneeng sign lahnguage? Eet would be easiair zan guesseeng vaht you're zaying when you're just gestureeng ahnd eet's easiair zan trying to read leeps." 

Marianne looked contemplating. She pointed to Camilla, mouthing 'You know?' 

Camilla nodded. "Oui. I teach eet." 

She pointed to Camilla then to herself then downstairs. 'Teach us?' 

"Oui! Eet vill be how I earln my keep. Ahnd ze Wi-Fi pahsswahrd." She was clearly half kidding with how she leaned forward. Marianne jumped, finding a pen and paper. She scribbled their name and the password: "Shamballa". She handed it to the French woman. "Merci, Madame." When Marianne left, Camilla shut the door and got changed. 

* * *

The next morning, Camilla got up and made her way downstairs, not even bothering with changing out of her [pajamas](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/tumblrroleplay/images/a/a3/Danielle_Campbell_photoshoot_3.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20151003011718). Harry was throwing some flour and some sort of liquid together and mixing with his hand. "Oy, no meexing weez your 'ahnds! I know where zey've been!" she accused pointing at him. 

Harry raised his hands, mirth clear on his face. 

An Italian woman walked in the kitchen, scolding Harry in Italian.

He replied in Italian, none of which Camilla understood. 

Marianne and Paul walked in. " _Bonjour_!" she greeted.

Paul said something in Italian which Camilla guessed was Hello or Good Morning. Harry replied the same. 

"Hey, more surprises, huh?" He pulled the guts from the fish he was, well gutting, and threw them in a bowl with water. Camilla didn't look. "Where'd you find this thundercat? I can't get her off my elbow." 

"What is thundercat?" the Italian woman asked. 

"What is thundercat? What is thundercat? Nonna, I'd like to fuck," he stated, dancing with the guts in his hand.

"Hey!" the Italian woman complained, making shoo motions at him. 

Marianne opened the fridge to see wine lining the top shelf and salad lining the second. She whirled around, her hand on her chest, looking appalled. 

Camilla sat up. Even she had recognized the signs of a recovering alcoholic. 

"Oh, yeah, you had nothing and now you have everything you need. Zucchini for Paul and a little heaven for everyone else," Harry explained carelessly. "We're having, for lunch, orata al saled!" 

Clara started yelling at him in Italian. 

He responded slowly, repeating what she said with a few changes. 

* * *

Marianne was cutting Harry's hair. 

"I grew up in a Britain where racism was woven into the fabric of society in a way that would be difficult to imagine today. I was of a generation that challenged it politically and physically. We confronted far-right thugs, organized street patrols to protect black and Asian families and stood up to police harassment. Patriots wish us to be equally unthinking in our attachment to the nation in every..."

Marianne whistled which made Harry stop reading, and Camilla and Paul look at her. She pointed into the 'yard' and made a wave with her arm, pointing again. 

"Oh," Harry reacted to the loud noise by his ear. "Ah. What the fuck's that?" he demanded, looking in that direction. 

Marianne corrected his head. 

"Is that a snake?" He fought to look again so Marianne gave him another smackin'. "Euch!" he continued. 

Camilla snorted at Marianne. She looked up from the hair in front of her and looked toward Camilla, smiling. Her grin widened when she saw Camilla shift so her feet were in the chair. Camilla reacted and poked her tongue out at the other woman. 

"It's just another whip snake," Paul called, not at all reassuringly. 

" _C'est 'orrible_!" Camilla called. 

"Yeah! Get rid of it!" Harry called. 

Paul chucked it into the bushes. "We have them every day." Again, not reassuring. 

Marianne went to trim another bunch when Harry moved again. She was surely about to hit him when she heard Penelope approach. So, she didn't. 

"Pen!" 

"How's the room of the ass?" Penelope asked. 

"A delight," Harry answered. "How's the room of the monk?"

Pen chuckled at him, bending down to kiss him. As their lips met, Camilla cringed.

All of their attention was temporarily diverted to the upcoming car. The horn made two beeps. 

"Oh, they made it! Great, great, great!" He stood up. Marianne kind of flipped out. How had they gotten her address? Harry! "Fantastic!" He turned to Marianne. "You'll love them. Salty and sweet." 

Marianne pulled a pout, flipping out. 

"Oh, you're fine. It's hot and they're communists and you're not speaking, sweetheart, so I had to make other plans." He ran to greet the new guests. "Hey!"

Paul sat on the other side of the table. Penelope sat just behind him, on the railing. Camilla didn't move from her seat perpendicular to Marianne. Said Rockstar shrugged at Paul, letting her hands drop. The metal of the scissors clinked against the glass table. Paul sat back, letting to book fall on his face. 

They chatted too far out of Camilla's hearing range. When they came within earshot, all she got was the ending of it. "Here she is. Here's the lady. Marianne, I'd like you to meet some very old friends of mine Mireille and Sylvie. Marianne Lane. She can't talk I'm afraid. That's rock 'n' roll for you. It squeezes you like a lemon, then it throws you out." 

Mireille walked over to Marianne, insisting, "Oh, but you're going to sing again! This is not forever." She kissed Marianne's cheek. 

Camilla heard the French in her voice. And her name. _"Bonjour, mademoiselle_ ," she called. 

Mireille turned to her. They got lost in their conversation in French. 

" _Et qui êtes-vous?_ " Mireille asked, her hands joined with Camilla's.

Marianne watched, feeling a spike of unwelcome jealousy. A stranger bonded with the woman so quickly.

" _Je suis la fille de Harry_!" Camilla shrugged, gesturing to said father.

Harry chuckled, hearing his name. He redirected the conversation back to English. "Ladies, I love being talked about. But, please in a language I can understand. Anyway this is Paul," he introduced for the grown man. 

"Guess who I am," Pen called. 

Mireille walked over to Penelope. "Oh, my dear. I know who you are!" 

Penelope took a bite of whatever she was eating. 

Mireille glanced back at Camilla. " _Sœur_?"

" _Moitié_ ," Camilla replied bitterly.

* * *

"He told me once that he'd lost six grand's worth of cocaine out in the parking lot. I mean, I've only seen that much cocaine in my life maybe twice. When he told me. I nearly had a fucking seizure in the green room. I... I couldn't let it go, the thought of it lying out there under somebody's Dodge Caravan or pick-up or whatever, so I got a dozen roadies to come out and shine their cell phones and torches under the cars while he finished his set. I mean, this is a stadium, remember, so thousands and thousands of cars and this group of roadies going around going, "Where is it? Is it here?"" Harry told them all. 

"And they found it?" Sylvie asked, sitting to the left of the man. 

Penelope entered the patio with a book in hand. 

"No. They never found it. Somebody else won that lotto. He told me later that he had planned to kamikaze the whole lot that night and if he had, then we would've found him covered in shit and fizz the next day on the bathroom floor." He took a sip of his drink. "Mm. But I think that losing that bag, it saved his life... for a while."

"To be a genius is to be unruled. To be unruled is to be alone," Mireille stated. She was on the right of Harry. 

"Well, er, yeah... for the first part maybe." Harry chuckled. 

"My sister has attempted suicide," Sylvie brought the attention to herself. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." 

Camilla's eyes shot to Paul for some reason. He was barely reacting, but there was guilt in his eyes. 

"Twice. Pills both times. Oh. It's the height of vanity, you know? You can't imagine her embarrassment when she discovered that she lived." 

"Yeah, well, you know, no one should be ashamed," Harry sympathized. 

"No. No. I tell her to call me if she feels it coming over her again. Now, every time the phone rings I resent her a little more and-"

Camilla reacted on instinct, her foot knocking over the cup by both her and Marianne's feet. She sat up instantly, Marianne lifting her feet. Though she wore sunglasses, Camilla would have sworn they made eye contact. Marianne mouthed, 'Thank you'. Camilla just turned to Sylvie. "Avoir du respect!" she snapped. When everyone looked at her in confusion, she translated and continued, " 'ahve sahme respect! My tween keelled herlself!" 

"How wahs I to know?" Sylvie demanded. 

"Firlst of ahll, you dahn't ahssume. Ahnd dahn't give ahny bullsheet ahbout resentment because your seestair does need to tahlk sahme times. Just 'ahs you do. Only, you should be ahfraid one of zose times, ze phahne will be reengeeng to say she's dead. I weesh my seestair hahd cahlled. Maybe zen, I wouldn't feel hair death cahnstahntly. So shut up!" She stood and walked to the pool. 

* * *

The others eventually joined her and Camilla got out. She walked over and sat beside Marianne. "I'm sahrry fahlr my outburst," she stated solemnly. 

Marianne just waved her off, mouthing, 'It's fine.' 

Camilla put her thumb to her chest, her hand how it would be if it were on her nose. "Ziss ees fine een ASl," she explained to the confused woman. "I tahke eet, you wahnt to learn Amer'cahn Sign Lahnguage. Naht french. Because I know bahth."

Marianne smiled, nodding. She mimicked was Camilla was doing and the brunette nodding at how she did it. 

The boys dove into the pool, racing.

"Go, 'a'y! Go, 'a'y!" Sylvie cheered. She breathed Harry's 'H' and 'rr's. 

Camilla tapped Marianne's leg. "I'll cheair **fahr** you." She called, "You cahn do eet, Paul. **We** know eet!" 

They reached the end and Harry turned to them. "Ah! Who won?" 

Marianne raised her hand to volunteer to vote, but Sylvie overrode her with her clapping. 

"'a'y... maybe." 

Harry got out. "Er, no, no, he won. Just about, just... just... Woo!" He danced to a sort of cement hill, doing a dance on it. 

Paul got out and he and Harry hugged.

"Champion!" Harry called Paul. 

"See? I still got it." Paul walked over to Marianne, both raised their hands in celebration. Paul leaned down and kissed his wife. 

Sylvie took of her waist wrap and sunk into the pool. 

"Sylvie!" Harry called. He suddenly cannonballed into the pool and Sylvie gasped a shriek. 

* * *

Marianne and Paul had found their way into the sunroom, Camilla thought it was. The married couple sat, Marianne's legs over Paul's while he sat normal. Camilla was on the patio/deck, reading some French book. 

The couple was listening to some traditional folk music. 

Harry scoffed a chuckle at it. 

"Check this out," Paul murmured, showing Marianne a few picture.

She hummed in response. 

"Actually, I'd like to get a few pictures of you, Camilla. I saw you were on the cover of Magic." 

"I used to be a museecian, but I've given up on zat. Eet's naht my pahssion ahnymahre. Ahnd you cahn phahtograhph me ahnytime you like," Camilla promised. 

"Well, why are we listening to this? You want to end up in a padded room? Fuck," Harry complained. 

"It was on the turntable," Paul defended. 

"I know, but it's shit!" Harry went over to said turntable. "What have we got here? No, no, no, Roxy Music, no. Uh-oh!" He held up one of Marianne's discs. "Some of this is good shit. (CHUCKLES) Ah, ah, ah, ah! Look what they have! Wait, where's Pen? Pen!" He ran from the room to get Penelope. He ran back in and started talking really fast. "Okay, I think Marianne's heard this. Sylvie, do you know this album? I can tell you a little story about my contribution to Rolling Stones history. Just after Darryl came in and I was working with Don Smith, who'd done a lot of Keith's solo stuff with me and we were at Windmill Lane in Dublin and it was raining. Non-stop Irish rain, it wouldn't fucking stop and I was quitting smoking, so it was coffee, coffee, coffee and this song, which you are going to hear, it just wasn't fucking working. Keith is insisting no drums, you know?" 

As he said no drums, Marianne mouthed, "No drums". 

"We're working away and I think, no, no, I go to Keith and I say, "Okay, so can Ronnie do a track on pedal steel?" He goes, "Yeah, but no drums." So I'm thinking "What the fuck!" So I give Mick castanets. So you've got Chuck Leavell on the harmonium and everyone is folding in all this beautiful shit, but this song is not taking off, so I say to Keith, "Do you trust me?" He goes "yeah". "If I promise no drums, can we do a percussion track?" He says, "What's Charlie going to play?" And I'm thinking, "What is Charlie going to play?" But I'm asking myself what's the sound, something, not too crisp and I look over and I see in the corner... Wait, what is it?" He played the disc.

"What is it?" Sylvie demanded. 

"Wait, listen, what is it? It's not a drum." The track started playing. There was metal in there somewhere. 

"What is it?

"Listen, listen! What's that? She knows," Harry chuckled, pointing at Marianne. "Listen!" 

"Ees zat a rubbeesh been?" Camilla called. 

"We!" Harry replied. 

"No!" Sylvie gasped. 

"Oui," Camilla corrected in a murmur, going back to her book. "Naht 'we'." 

"It's an aluminium fucking trash can." He laughed at the story. "So I put Charlie out in the stairwell, we put a mic three floors up and Keith's shaking his head 'cause he knows I'm right. As soon as Charlie starts banging on it, we're off. A can for trash. Human evolution in the key of C." He started dancing, but he sucked so he stopped. "Yeah, all that and you still can't fucking move to it, you know. Okay, what else have we got? Aha! Okay, this is tops." He put on another.

It was the Rolling Stones.

"You produced this?" Sylvie demanded. 

"Christ, no. I was 16! This is tops. I didn't know it then, but I do now." He started singing along, dancing all over the place. Paul was taking pictured of him and turned it to Marianne before catching Camilla on the deck outside, bobbing her head. He pointed the camera at her and she instantly threw up the perfect [façade](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/onedirection/images/a/aa/DCApril2018.png/revision/latest?cb=20180626093550). 


End file.
